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To be the centre of interest and the object of gracious condescension was balm to the wounded feelings of Gilmour. Gourlay had lowered him, but this reception restored him to his own good opinion. It was a great occasion. Gilmour expanded in gossip beneath its influence benign. He welcomed, too, this first and fine opportunity of venting his wrath on the Gourlays.
All that his life meant was bound up in that house it had been the pride of the Gourlays; now it was no longer his, and the Gourlays' pride was in the dust their name a by-word. As Gourlay looked, a robin was perched on the quiet roof-tree, its breast vivid in the sun. One of his metaphors flashed at the sight.
He said he would go down first." "He was damned right," spluttered Gourlay. "Some of these profs. think too much of themselves. They wouldn't bully me! There's good stuff in the Gourlays," he went on with a meaning look at Armstrong; "they're not to be scoffed at. I would stand insolence from no man." "Ay, man," said Armstrong, "would you face up to a professor?"
He felt he had been bright this morning. He had put the branks on Wilson! Wilson was as furious at himself as at Gourlay. Why the devil had he said "Good-morning"? It had slipped out of him unawares, and Gourlay had taken it up with an ironic birr that rang in his ears now, poisoning his blood. He felt equal in fancy to a thousand Gourlays now so strong was he in wrath against him.
That shows what I think o' ye!" All that summer John took an oblique revenge on those who had disconsidered the Gourlays, but would have liked to make up to him now when they thought he was going to do well he took a paltry revenge by patently rejecting their advances and consorting instead, and in their presence, with the lowest of low company.
Ha, ha, ha! it's to be a clean sweep o' the Gourlays!" There is nothing uglier in life than a woman's cruel laugh; but Mrs. Gourlay's laugh was more than cruel, it was demoniac the skirl of a human being carried by misery beyond the confines of humanity. Janet stared at her in speechless fear. "Mother," she whispered at last, "what are we to do?" "There's twa-thirds of the poison left," said Mrs.
Peter wondered vaguely why he was sworn at. But he felt that it was not in anger. He still clung to his master's hand. "I've been fifty year wi' the Gourlays," said he. "Ay, ay; and this, it seems, is the end o't." "Oh, gang away!" cried Gourlay, "gang away, man!" And Peter went away.
All Gourlay's swankie chaps had gone with the going of his trade; only Peter Riney, the queer little oddity, remained. There was a loyal simplicity in Peter which never allowed him to question the Gourlays. He had been too long in their service to be of use to any other; while there was a hand's turn to be done about the House with the Green Shutters he was glad to have the chance of doing it.
"No, certainly not but that if any man could, you are that man." "Ay, ay," replied old Dunphy; "all bekaise he thinks I have a regard for the Gourlays. That's what makes him suppose that I know anything about the business; just as if I was in the saicrets of the family. I may have suspicions like other people; but that's all."
It has often been said about Cambuslang that it was a club of three names! Those names, however, both individually and collectively, were fearless opponents to meet in any tussle, let alone a cup tie, and to the credit of Cambuslang be it said, no combination of players ever served a club so well, and had such pleasure in their hard work, as the Buchanans, Gourlays, and Smiths.
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